Troublesome Trucks

Arc 4 First day

Whilst dreaming, I saw myself rolling freely along a set of rails, traveling in impossible directions at high speeds. The tracks bent, did corkscrews, flips, jumps, and I was under my own power. The tracks seemed to stretch indefinitely. I wasn't the only one there however. There were other trucks like me, doing the same as I. Freely rolling down our own imaginative rails independently. It was colorful there yet dark at the same time. It felt liberating, powerful, and blissful.

My dream was interrupted by a bump in the rear. I woke with a start as I saw the trucks in front of me slowly moving away. 

"Who's there?" I called back to my mover. 

"Come along," came an oily voice, "Don't make a fuss." I could hear a loud motor revving behind me. Is this the Black Weasel? I glanced back to the fleeting rows of trucks, feeling a bit saddened that the fun times had to come to an end. I remained quiet the rest of the journey. 

We pulled into a large green station with glass arches for a roof. There were large columns numbered 1 to 6, we were closest to platform 2. There were people of all different colors, shapes and sizes on the platforms. Some fat, some thin, some pale, some tanned. Men, women, children. Most of them wore clothes like the inspector at the Works. Suits and dresses of the upper class. Some wore lesser variations, the middle class I assumed. None of the adults gave me any attention. Only a few children looked my way, but they didn't seem that interested in an empty, ordinary truck.

Now pulling out of the station, I could see it in its entirety. 

"What is this place?" I asked. I could feel the diesel's burning gaze through the back of my frames. 

"Knapford." he snapped. We switched tracks, now approaching platform 3. Quickly glancing left, I saw the yards full of other trucks, just like the ones at Tidmouth. On platform 5 there was a line of coaches. They were smaller in height and length than the coaches I had seen at Tidmouth, and they were painted orange with white roofs.

Returning my eyes forward I saw a line of empty trucks. On the next line over, platform 4, was James. He did not look very happy. 

The diesel shunted me into place with a loud BUMP. I winced, such pressure hurt my frames. The other trucks also jumped at this. The weasel didn't seem to take any notice, even as he rolled away. James let off steam and rolled forward out of view. A few minutes passed and I could hear who I correctly assumed to be James, backing down towards us. Another wave of pain shot through my frames as James buffered up rather forcefully. I heard some bickering amongst the others on the train. 

I'd lost patience "You don't have to be so aggressive you kno-" 

"Shut up back there!" Shouted James, silence fell. James let out a sigh "At least they're empties." he muttered, thinking no one would hear him. However I did hear, What did these engines have against us trucks? What have we done to deserve such treatment? Is this just a normal thing here? Do they expect me to just take this type of "abuse?" I thought back to the orange truck's words. A big shot, Scruffey. Does big shot mean becoming infamous? Was this Scruffey a big shot once upon a time? Like a leader of sorts? If so, what did he do? And did it cause some engines to become distasteful to us? Not just engines but the coaches too? Whatever had occurred has caused such discord to create almost a class system within the NWR. If I'm to know more, I'd have to ask around.

Knowing that James might biff me and the other trucks again, I kept my mouth shut and just took in the scenery. Factories, warehouses, homes, you name it. Buildings and trees flew by as we picked up speed. The towns became open fields of green and yellow. Farms began popping up here and there as we passed. I didn't even know where we were going but hopefully I could find answers there.